


Our Favorite Housewife

by thelma_throwaway



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Fruit Basket Style, Gen, Haruno Sakura Needs a Hug, Reverse Harem, Slice of Life, Supernatural - Freeform, Too Many Dudes Not Enough Time, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelma_throwaway/pseuds/thelma_throwaway
Summary: Sakura needs a job, a place to sleep, and a little time to get back on her feet.The Uchiha boys need help.... A lot of it.{Updated Weekly- please subscribe!}
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Itachi, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Obito, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Shisui, Sakura & Uchihas
Comments: 29
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

“There’ll be cooking,” says the older one. He’s got long dark hair pulled into a slim ponytail, a soft voice. 

At least—- she thinks he’s older.

All these Uchihas look so similar. Pale, ageless, handsome. Like illustrations from another time, right down to the clan symbol they have embroidered on every coat, cardigan, hand towel, pillow sham, probably right down to their underwear. 

“And laundry.  _ Lots  _ of laundry,” says the other. He’s got curly black hair and a boyish face, slumped against one palm and twirling what looks like a slim metal chopstick with the other. “Like more laundry than you would really think was possible.”

“The older Uchiha extends a slim, downturned hand towards his cousin, as if to say  _ enough. _ “It’s not that much laundry. We don’t want to scare Haruno-san off with your jokes. There’s a reasonable amount of laundry, more than average but not unmanageable.”

“That’s very umm…” She clears her throat. “Precise, thank you. I can handle cooking and laundry just fine. Cleaning, grocery shopping, gardening. Whatever you need. Like I said I don’t have any formal experience but I’ve helped take care of my extended family since I was a teenager. So there’s really nothing I can’t do.” 

“Good,” says the older Uchiha. 

The clock on the mantle ticks. The tea on the table steams. 

“So…” Sakura tries not to fidget under their gaze. They have identical serene expressions, politely expectant while also completely bored. 

She stifles the twitch of her forehead. 

_ Damn rich guys… _ she fumes inwardly.  _ No, don’t start with that already. You haven’t even moved in yet _ . “Pardon me, Uchiha-san but I don’t want to take up any more of you or your brother’s time. If you don’t think it’s a match..”

“No—“

“Brother?” scoffs the younger Uchiha. “Hell no, Itachi’s brother—-“ 

“Shisui,” says Itachi warningly. “Haruno-san, I think it is a perfect match. If you’re still interested in the job, you could move in… today, if you’d like.”

Sakura swallows a happy squeal and inclines her head respectfully instead. “Thank you, today would be perfect.”

She leaves with a set of keys to the little traditional style house, an enchanted oasis in the city up a set of stone stairs from the street. There’s a sweet if a little untamed garden, a cedar sauna up the hill, tatami mats and sliding doors and it’s perfect. Everything she’d always wanted. 

So perfect her stomach starts to turn as she shops for a few little things to make it seem like she hasn’t been living out of her backpack for the last two months, couch surfing and overstaying her welcome and generally failing at her original goal of…

What  _ had _ been her goal? When she moved to the city. To make it big? To fall in love? To find a place to belong? All of them and none of them, they were so silly and predictable and she didn’t know what she expected when she’d quit her job back home but it definitely wasn’t this.

Being the live-in housekeeper at the Uchiha’s little  _ pied de terre _ away from the clan compound on the other side of the city wasn’t a bad gig at all. It came with room and board, and the young representative— Itachi, she remembers—- had said that it was mostly used for housing for long term guests.

“My younger brother lives there for now,” Itachi had said with an unreadable expression. “And one of our older cousins. They’re both a bit…”

“Crotchety. Depressing. Rude!” Shisui snapped his fingers when he arrived at the right word.

“They’re none of those things,” Itachi had corrected. “But they are both… particular.”

“The word is peculiar, cousin.”

“Shisui. Please.”

Finally there’s no more stalling, no more puttering around the neighborhood pretending to be checking out the local shops. She locates the time smoothed stone steps that lead to Uchiha’s, pushing aside some overgrown bushes to start her ascent. 

Sakura takes the first breath of cool air, green with leaves and wriggling bugs and the  _ tock… tock… tock… _ of the fountain in the garden.

“I can do this,” she says aloud to herself, gripping the handle of the paper bag in her hand tight. “I won’t get murdered. And I can do this.”

The house is dark and she breathes a sigh of relief, lets herself in through the back door and starts to unpack the groceries. Her bedroom is just off the kitchen and she drops her bag just inside without looking around. She’s afraid she’ll cry, she almost had when Itachi had described her new lodgings. 

If she looks at the bed, the one Shisui had made sure to note was  _ ex-quis-it-ly _ comfortable, she’ll fall into it and sleep for days.

She walks around the house, getting the lay of the land. There’s four bedrooms, including her own, a living room with a plush leather couch and a gigantic TV that’s leaned against the wall. There’s a locked room she assumes is the older cousin’s office, a tiny addition off the kitchen for the washer and dryer, a bathroom off the main hall and a little bathhouse outside the kitchen door. Sakura stands for a bit in the garden, enjoying the click of cicadas in the flowers for a bit before returning to the kitchen. She ties up her hair and scrubs her hands and sighs.

“See?”

Sakura hugs herself, squeezing tight for a moment. She’s been doing it more and more since moving to the city, soothing herself, giving herself little pep talks, petting her own cheek at night. Itachi is the first person in Konoha she’s spoken to more than once, besides the guy at the bubble tea shop. 

“You can do this. It’s just like at home. Except it's for a bunch of handsome princelings. And not a whole bunch of smelly little cousins.” 

Sakura scrubs yellow and green zucchini in the sink, carefully rinses a pair of bursting heirloom tomatoes. She minces dried fruit for the rice and locates the spice cabinet. Needs work but it’ll do for tonight and she takes an armful of bottles down. 

“I’m home. Hello?” The front door opens and closes, the sound of shoes being shuffled off. 

“Hi,” she says cheerfully when the voice finds her in the kitchen. Slim, dark, and handsome, closer to her age but nearly identical to all the Uchiha she’s met. They practically run the city, with their two tone fan decorating every block. “I’m your new housekeeper, Haruno Sakura.”

“Ah.” He schools a startled expression from his face and bows respectfully. “Yes, well. Uchiha Sasuke. Pleased to meet you.”

Sakura smiles brightly, waits for him to say something but he doesn’t. Serene smile like his brother’s, with a haughty twist to his brows. 

“Umm, well I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of going grocery shopping.” She gestures to the bowls of prepped vegetables and marinating fish, the half sliced tomato on her cutting board.

A smirk dances across his lips. “The liberty of grocery shopping… if you haven’t noticed our favorite supermarket is 7/11, so I’m sure anything you make will be an improvement to our diet.” 

“Well, umm… I hope you like swordfish and ratatouille.”

“That sounds perfect.” Sasuke draws closer, leaning over the counter to examine her handiwork on the tomatoes. He smells a bit like burnt wood and a lot like expensive cologne. “Are you a mind reader, Haruno-san?”

“Your brother mentioned your favorite food was tomatoes.”

Sasuke’s face flexes from his neutral frown to a hopeful grin then to an icy, glazed scowl. “Maybe when I was a kid. Itachi doesn’t know anything about me.”

He turns quickly from the kitchen. “Welcome to our home, Haruno-san.”

“So you  _ don’t  _ like tomatoes?” She mutters to herself and then she shakes her head. “I’m already confused.” 

“Don’t mind him.”

Sakura nearly jumps out of her skin but it’s just Shisui.

“You scared me, Uchiha-san.”

He shrugs, sending a cascade of curls back with a toss of his head. “You should just skip to calling me Shisui. If everyone’s Uchiha-san it’s going to get confusing really quickly. Plus most of us don’t deserve the honorific.” 

She makes a non-committal noise and goes back to slicing tomatoes. Whether or not Sasuke likes them anymore, she’s halfway through making ratatouille and she’s not turning back. 

“You should know that Itachi is  _ persona non grata _ to Sasuke.” He darts out a pair of fingers to snag a juicy scrap from her cutting board and she stops the movement of her knife. He’s grinning invitingly at her. She sighs as quietly as possible and keeps slicing. “If you’re looking to endear yourself to him, don’t mention his big bad brother.”

“I just assumed…” Sakura trails off, shakes her head. “It’s really none of my business.”

“It’s about to be,” he singsongs before drifting away towards the living room. 

Sasuke is wedged into the couch, pretending to read a book but is really just drumming his fingers against the arm of the couch in consternation. 

“You met the new girl, I presume.” Shisui throws himself over the back of the couch, landing with his feet in his little cousin's lap.

“That’s why you’re here, I presume,” Sasuke responds acidly and flips the page before tossing the book away. 

“Try not to scare this one off, huh little cuz? There’s a limited number of housekeepers willing to live in a creepy old house with a bunch of crusty bachelors. And she’s the only one that looks like  _ that _ , trust me. I sat for like  _ hours _ with Tach interviewing a bunch of mean grannies before Cutie-san arrived..” 

“You’re disgusting.” Sasuke throws his cousins feet off of him like they’re a dead animal and reaches for the controllers on the coffee table. “As long as you're here leering and lurking, play a round with me? Obito hates video games.”

“What about the other guy.” Shisui grins as he reaches for the other. 

“Can’t hold the controller.” The familiar welcome tune of Smash Brothers plays. “And he’s a terrible loser.” 

She sticks her head as the sun is setting and they’re starting their 10th last game.

“Sorry to interrupt. Dinner will be ready soon, would you like it set out in the dining room?”

Shisui snorts. “Have you looked in there yet? We’ll come eat in the kitchen.”

“Not hungry,” Sasuke bites out, thumbs twirling over the controller. His stomach grumbles and he looks away to cover his blush. “Ok.”

“Whoa there’s chairs here!” Shisui laughs at how nicely she’s made up the kitchen table with flatware and candlesticks and sturdy cloth napkins from the linen closet. “Damn usually we just eat pizza over the sink.”

“I noticed,” she says tightly. The sink had backed up twice cooking dinner. “I hope you like it.”

There’s ratatouille and broiled fish and rice with little chunks of dried fruit in it.

“There’s only two plates.” Sasuke frowns, whips his head towards her, mouth opening and closing twice before he finds the right words. “Please, eat with us, Haruno-san?”

For a moment, a painfully earnest look flits across his brow, he looks just like his older brother. Sakura swallows a gasp. He’s so different than before, like a shell or spiky exoskeleton has shifted slightly to reveal the soft tendon beneath.

It’s short lived. 

“Or I can go if you like.” Shisui waggles his brows and window slams shut and its petulant, cold Sasuke again snarling at his cousin to shut the fuck up.

She’s already getting a plate for herself. She was dreading eating alone after they were done like some Downton Abbey scullery maid.

“If you don’t.. mind, I’d love to join you both.”

They make polite, stranger conversation for a bit. Sasuke talks about his studies, Shisui brags about his last trip. Sakura shares a little about herself as possible while still being polite. It gets easier when Shisui hops up to unearth a bottle of wine.

“Red or white,” he calls from the cupboard.

“Red.” Sakura and Sasuke answer at the same time and she’s rewarded with a conspiratorial smirk that makes something move in her chest. She tucks it away for later. 

Sasuke eats three helpings of ratatouille and compliments her choice of fish. 

“Wow I feel so civilized,” Shisui marvels. “Chairs and candlesticks and napkins and shit.” 

“I’m glad…. I don’t know,” she says when the bottle is more gone than not. They’re still sitting around the table with their plates pushed away. “I didn’t know how… formal you’d be, Sasuke-san.”

“That’s just the main house,” Shisui laughs. “You gotta twist up your panties upon entry.” 

“Only when I have to be,” he says a little glumly. “Otherwise I’d just as soon not talk to a soul.”

“Well you can ignore me completely if you’d like ,” she says brightly and means it. The way he looks at her makes her throat go dry and she  _ really _ needs this job, this bed, until she can get on her feet. “I’m just the housekeeper.”

Shisui snorts, eyes following an elliptical path between his little cousin, his fingertips drumming against the table, Sakura and her nails clacking in time on the wine glass.

“I sincerely doubt that,” he laughs, poking a tongue at Sasuke as he rises from the table. “Just don’t let him be rude to you, Sakura-chan. Pull on your pigtails, snap your bra strap.”

“Whose rude now,” Sasuke snaps. “You haven’t known her long enough to speak so familiarly.”

“Oh we go way back.” Shisui grins and drapes an arm over her shoulders for a moment before drawing away. “All the way back to this morning. Another round, Sasuke-kun?”

After the dishes are done she puts away the leftovers and splashes some water on her face. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She turns off the kitchen light and goes to her room. She locks the door and drags something in front of it because you never know and turns to survey the room.

A bed. A huge, soft bed with creamy white sheets and a set of pillows that looks like she could sink into them forever and never hit the bed. 

There’s a long, low dresser with a mirror , a cream colored chair by the window. A lamp, two night tables (one dragged next to the door). She has a little en-suite bathroom with a claustrophobic shower but she wipes a tear of joy from her eye, sits down on the toilet and gives up a little prayer of gratitude. In one day she’s gone from napping behind a newspaper at the all-night diner to having her own shower and an exquisite bed and a gaggle of testy pretty boys. 

Sakura strips down and showers, scrubbing away the layer of skin of her previous reality-- hours just roaming the city, killing time while her hosts were at work, or looking for a job, any job that would take her. When she gets out she’s fully processed it.

“This is my new room,” she says aloud carefully. “It came with a housekeeping job. I'm going to live here for now. ”

The silence hums back at her and she could cry. It’s been ages since she’s had something that’s  _ hers _ even if it really belongs to the Uchihas. The door closes and it’s  _ her’s _ , this is where her clothes will be, the sparse toiletries on the dresser. Tomorrow she’ll wake up here and start her new life for real.

Sakura slides into bed with a sigh. It feels like slipping into a gorgeous cloud. She wonders briefly about the thread count before conking out, open-mouthed, snoring, and content. 

Sometime after midnight there’s a crash in the kitchen, followed by a muttered curse, the sound of glass breaking. 

She gets up without a second thought and presses her ear to the door. Whoever is moving around in the kitchen is big— much bigger than Sasuke or Shisui, who had loudly proclaimed it was way too late to go home and that he’d be sleeping in the spare room. 

She shifts the night able away from the door, grabbing the heavy, decorative wood knot on it.

Silently she eases the knob to the side and cracks open the door. Something is for sure moving in the dark, snuffling and awful smelling. 

“The element of surprise evaporates quickly,” her father had once told her.

Sakura kicks the door wide and jumps into the kitchen two-footed, landing hard enough to rattle the plates in the cupboard.

“Hey!” She yells, brandishing the wood knot above her head. 

A figure looms large in the dark kitchen— he wears an orange ski mask and black jacket that goes to the knee, and is taking all the leftovers from the fridge. 

“Oh—hey.”

The casual greeting deflates her and her arm falls to her side.

“Were you going to throw that at me?” The smirk is evident in his voice.

“You’re an intruder,” she snaps. 

“Don’t think so,” the figure’s stance brightens and he reaches over to unplug a cellphone from the wall. “There it is—! Oh I have a text— Bito, new housekeeper moved in today please don’t scare her we really can’t…”

Sakura clears her throat.

“Oh, man. Sorry.” He puts down the plate in his hand and goes to lift his mask. “Guess I already got off to a bad start, huh. Uchiha Obito, pleased to meet you.” 

A squared jaw, wry mouth, dark eyes appear as the mask is pushed away. He has a thicket of dark, messy hair and an old pink scar that radiates over the left side of his face. He looks like the others but more evolved, more manly though he can’t be that much older than Itachi. 

Shisui has described him in a dizzying array of contradictory terms— loyal but unpredictable, laidback but easily upset, idealistic but also unbearably grim. In the end he’d said you’ll just have to meet him yourself. 

Sakura is speechless and her mouth bobs open. She’s going to have a heart attack living here, one way or another. 

Uchiha Obito quirks a brow, dons the same politely expectant look of his cousins, the one that says  _ Go on… if you truly must _ .

“I knew I smelled manure.” Sasuke materializes in the hall and flips on the light. Sakura and Obito both wince at the sudden brightness. “Have you been building bombs again with that pathetic Andy Warhol wannabe?”

“Hey!” Obito pelts him with a tomato picked from the leftover ratatouille. “Don’t talk about Deidara-senpai like that, he’s a genius. You’ll see.”

“Hn.” 

Sasuke rolls his eyes and glides across the room, catching Sakura by the elbow and guiding her back towards her bedroom.

“I apologize for my cousin, Haruno-san. He fancies himself something of a revolutionary when he’s just a sad old weirdo. In the future please don’t confront a deranged intruder on your own. I’m almost certain we’re not paying you enough for that.”

“Whoa, Sasky-kun! That’s like more words than you’ve said all year.” Obito is eating a filet of broiled fish barehanded. “I know you have a little thing for mai—-“

“GOODNIGHT.”

Sasuke deposits Sakura in her bedroom and speeds away, pausing only to huck an apple from the fruit bowl at his cousin's stomach.

“Haruno-san! I like eggs and coffee and I don’t wake up ‘til 3,” Obito shouts through her closed door.

“Duly noted,” she sighs, falling back into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

And so it goes—

She makes coffee in the morning and breakfast for Sasuke, does laundry and straightens the house, reads and works in the garden. In the afternoon she’ll make an omelet for Obito and leave it on the counter before going to nap. 

When she gets up it’s always gone and the plate is in the sink (not washed, she notices, but in the sink nonetheless). Shisui is almost always in the neighborhood around dinner time and will grill her while she prepares the meal— why that pan, how do you know when it’s done, what happens if you don’t wash it. Never helps, but observes her, asks questions, can sometimes be convinced to set the table.

She’ll eat dinner with Shisui and Sasuke, or just Sasuke which isn’t as fun. Sasuke is polite, sometimes cool and sometimes just totally silent. He never puts his clothes in the hamper but tells her to help herself to the bookshelf in his room and always makes a point to come say hello when he gets home. 

When Shisui’s there he’ll wheedle her into leaving the dishes to come watch TV with them. When he’s not, Sasuke compliments her dinner and ghosts away to read in his room. 

She’ll put aside a plate for Obito, who always returns when the house is dark and everyone’s sleeping. Sometimes she’ll still be up— FaceTiming with her parents in whatever time zone they find themselves in (today Madagascar tomorrow who knows— they’d been globetrotting since her mother retired) and she’ll go out to listen to his outlandish excuses for his late arrival.

She almost feels bad for taking a paycheck— she would have settled for room and board but every week she sends a little to her aunt and uncle and puts the rest in a cigar box under her bed. 

Time goes on. A week becomes a month, she opens all the doors and windows and scrubs the house down. Obito tracks clay down the hall and she just shakes her head while Sasuke fumes.

“Disrespectful,” he mutters through grit teeth as he helps her clear the breakfast table. “Bad enough that he comes home smelling like a leachfield.”

“It’s fine,” she laughs, waving a conciliatory hand. “It’s my job.”

“No, Sakura.” He catches her by wrist as she leans past him to the sink. “You’re a housekeeper not an indentured servant.”

She’s too flustered to point out that it would be just as rude to an indentured servant. He’s only a few inches taller than her but he looms—- handsome, hard lean body, and fragrant with expensive cologne—- over her for a moment. 

In the morning light, with an intense look that makes him look more like himself and less like a clone of his brother, he’s actually breathtaking.

Well— as breathtaking as a person can be when you’ve washed their dirty socks.

He’s never touched her before, not a playful tug on her ponytail like Shisui or a sloppy high five from Obito. Itachi’s firm handshake when he’d handed over the keys.

His grip around her wrist is surprisingly warm for a person so frosty, palms and fingers calloused from gripping a shinai. She’s watched him, shirtless and oblivious to the gorgeous scene he conjures practicing his katas in the garden. It makes her feel like she’s stepped out of the flow of time, the same way she’d felt sitting across from Itachi in his embroidered robes. Like she’s crossed some barrier and found herself in old Kyoto instead of new Konoha. 

In the kitchen, in a beam of early morning sun, their eyes lock. She can see herself in his dilated pupils, and their pulses pause together and they stand like flowers suspended in glass. 

Then time moves again. 

“Hn.” He lets out a breath, looking away as he drops her wrist. “Whatever. I just don’t want them to take advantage of you, Sakura. They’re grown men.” 

He’s gone before she can compose herself to answer and she hears the front door slam shut a few minutes later.

She looks at the counter and sighs. 

He forgot his backpack. 

“Grown men,” she grumbles as she jams her feet into her shoes. “Needs mommy to bring him his knapsack.” 

Her stomach roils like it’s full of horny butterflies.

So far she’s successfully ignored the fact that she’s living with a bunch of perfect specimens of gorgeous manhood. Ignored muscled bare chests in the corner of her vision as they go to and from the bathhouse just outside the kitchen door. Ignored the warm, campfire smell of Shisui when he leans in to mutter some private joke. The way Sasuke bites his lip when he reads a particularly thrilling page. The tingle of anticipation she feels when she hears Obito come in at 1 am, rummaging in the fridge for a snack for two. The palpable disappointment that she hasn’t seen Itachi since that first day.

She sprints across the garden, hoping to catch Sasuke before he leaves because she has  _ no _ idea where he goes during the day. The dojo probably and maybe also school but it’s unclear for what or how long or who he sees there. As far as she can tell the Uchihas mostly socialize with each other and it would be a stretch to call them friends.

_ Inmates is more like it _ , she thinks as she loses her footing on the slippery stone steps. 

_ Fuck, _ she manages to say to herself,  _ I don’t have the dental insurance for this _ .

She lands not face down on the stones but face first into a muscley chest. It stinks like shit but the warm arms that circle her waist to steady her make up for it.

“Whoops! Careful, you’ll break your neck.”

Without thinking too hard about it, he swings her up into his arms and carries her to the top of the steps.

“No!” She laughs, too tickled by his goofy expression to care that for the second time this morning she’s close enough to an Uchiha to kiss his neck. She points towards the street. “I’m going that way, Obito!”

“Why?” When he shrugs she goes with it, cradled in his arms.

“To—“ She laughs again and shakes her head. “Does it matter? Sasuke forgot his backpack.”

“Let him come back for it,” Obito says simply. 

“Why do you smell  _ so _ bad,” she sighs as he puts her down. 

“Cuz I need something to keep the ladies at bay. Otherwise it would be a full time job accepting phone numbers and refusing dates.”

“Hn. I thought that’s what your personality was for.” 

Sasuke is at the bottom of the stone stairs, arms crossed and a livid expression that suggests he saw the whole thing. Sakura takes a step back from the older Uchiha when she clocks the tightness in Sasuke’s jaw.

“You forgot your bag, dumb-dumb.” Obito takes the backpack from her hands and tosses it down to him. It lands hard in Sasuke’s arms and he scowls. “Sakura almost wiped out trying to chase after you.”

“Good thing you were there to catch her, huh?” Sasuke’s face is a mask of cold wrath. “I’m shocked you didn’t cop a feel while you were at it. I suggest you lock both doors when you shower, Sakura. Unless you want a 6 foot tall turd joining you.” 

“Um…” Sakura’s mouth pops open. She’s never heard him be so vulgar. Cold yes, cruel yes. Never crass. The suggestion of her nudity seems to deflate his anger and he stalks away before they can see his face fall. 

Obito tips his head back and laughs. “Wow! He hasn’t been this feisty in years, I’m loving it.”

“I—- I don’t believe him,” she blurts out as they walk towards the house. “About you, Obito.”

“That I won’t try and get into the shower with you?” He quirks a brow and kicks off his dirty shoes on the porch. They reek. “I wouldn’t fit in there anyway.”

Sakura’s jaw drops open again but she doesn’t have to hide her blush because Obito is already yawning and halfway down the hall, pant legs dragging clay down the freshly washed floors.

“Wake me up for dinner, ay Sakura-chan?”

“Don’t get into bed with those pants!” She calls after him, shaking her head. “Whatever’s on them is murder to clean!” 

Shisui shows up just as she turns on the stove to sauté scallions and chicken bones for soup stock. He plants himself mercifully out of arm's reach. She thinks her brain will melt down if another one of them touches her today. All afternoon she’d been plagued by the lingering feeling of Sasuke’s hand on her wrist, Obito’s strong, smelly arms laced around her. It had unbalanced her, made it difficult to focus and when she’d found herself going to fill the iron with lemonade she took herself for a cold shower (locking both doors without thinking).

Shisui is dependably silly and curious, dedicating 20 minutes to quizzing her on the chemistry of soup.

“I don’t know, Shisui,” she laughs after he asks why it is that bones make the best soup when meat is more flavorful. “The collagen? It just does!”

He slams a playful palm on the counter. “Not good enough! You’re a doctor of home economics, Sakura, you should know these things.”

Sasuke comes home later than usual and doesn’t stop into the kitchen to say hello and lift pot lids like he usually does.

“Can you — um…” She blushes and pretends it’s the steam from the noodle pot. “Can you tell Sasuke and Obito it’s time for dinner.”

Shisui raises a brow. “Sure?”

She looks away. “Please?”

“Hmmm.” He studies her for a moment before shrugging. “Ok, weirdo.”

Sasuke has his head phones on so it takes him a moment to register there’s someone in his room. Shisui catches his hand just as it’s about to fall against his neck.

“Slow down, tiger, just here to call you for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” he snaps and puts back on his headphones. 

“Really? Cuz that’s usually what you say when you just don’t want to look at someone across the dinner table.”

Shisui deflects the thrown soda can easily. 

“What happened today?” 

“What do you mean.” Sasuke frowns, turns off his music and sits up. His cousin smirks— the boy has always been so earnestly easy to read despite his bluster.

“I dunno, but Sakura’s cheeks lit up like a freakin Christmas tree when she asked me to call you and Beets for dinner.”

“Obito’s home? I’m definitely not hungry.” He falls back onto his bed but Shisui snatches the headphones away before he can put them back on.

“Ok so something embarrassing happened between you, Sakura, and Obito— got it!” Shisui turns and strides from the room. “If you won’t tell me I’ll just ask him.”

“No! I—“ Sasuke growls in frustration. “I…. lost my composure this morning. Twice.”

“Your composure.” Shisui sighs. “And that’s enough to keep you from Sakura’s chicken udon? You must have gotten real uncomposed.”

“I did,” he grits out. “He had his—- his nasty hands on her and I said something rude.”

“Doesn’t sound like Bito… something rude does sound like you though.” Shisui leaves the door open and walks down the hall to rap on the next door. “Beets! What did you do to Sakura this morning!”

There’s a long pause, the sound of someone locating their pants. 

“Saved her from cracking her front teeth on the steps, why?” He opens the door, shirtless but noticeably better smelling than usual. “What did Sasky-kun say?”

“Said you had your pervy mits—“

“Shut  _ up _ .” Sasuke joins them in the hall, door firmly closed behind him. “Don’t think I don’t see you both. I don’t know what the hell my brother—“

He stops. Grits his teeth.

“I have no idea what  _ Itachi’s _ plan was but it should probably be reported to the police.” 

“I think the plan was to hire a live-in maid,” Shisui grins. “But maybe you’re just not mature enough yet to live with a woman so close to your own age. You’re used to grannies in house slippers.” 

Obito laughs and picks up a shirt, still neatly folded in the laundry basket where Sakura had left it. “Yeah, Baby Sass, it seems like you’re pretty protective for nothing. What are you so afraid is going to happen? Someone will scoop her up before you work up the balls to make a move?”

“I—“

“HEY!” They all start at the disembodied voice. “I worked all afternoon on this soup!”

The cousins duck their heads as if they’ve been thwapped with a newspaper and shuffle towards the kitchen. 

“Man, your food is a lot better hot, Sakura,” Obito says between helpings. 

“Probably tastes better when you sit down to eat it instead of dribbling it down your stomach over the sink,” she replies pleasantly. “More noodles, Sasuke?”

“No,” he bites out, then rolls his lip between his teeth at the look of reproof it earns from Shisui. “Thank you. It was delicious, Haruno-san.”

She smiles her guileless smile. 

“Hn.” He hides his blush behind a sip of water. 

“Heard you took a tumble today, Sakura-chan.” Shisui slurps his noodles with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah those steps are killer,” she sighs. “Remind me to be careful in the snow.”

“Do you think you’ll be with us that long?” Obitio pours soy sauce into the last inch of his broth, suddenly glum. 

“I mean, yeah, why not?” She shrugs. “Unless you guys are planning on firing me before then.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence. Shisui breaks it.

“That’s right—- you’re the hired help.”

“Don’t call her that,” Sasuke snaps.

“I mean— it’s what she is!”

“Jeez, Shis.” Obito rolls his eyes and gets up from the table, carrying his bowl to the sink. “You’ve been spending too much time at the main house.”

“Hn,” says Sasuke and it sounds like  _ I agree _ . 

“It’s ok,” Sakura replies sweetly. “I wouldn’t wash your underwear for free.” 

Shisui tips his head back and laughs until there are tears running down his face. Sasuke scowls and gets up from the table.

“Goodnight.”

“You shouldn’t tease him,” Obito sighs. “You know how he gets. We won’t see him for a month now.”

“You’re the one who said he wasn’t mature enough—“ Shisui rolls his eyes at his cousin’s withering look. “Whatever. If Tach isn’t going to do it someone has to. Wanna watch something, Bito? It’s been ages since you were around.” 

“I’m meeting some friends.” Obito disappears down the hall in a frosty miasma, and Shisui shakes his head. 

“So much for a good time,” he sighs, blowing out the candles on the table. “Come on, Sak, watch some TV with me, I’m dreading going back to the compound.”

Sakura watches the Obito shaped hole in the darkened hallway close behind him. “Sure.”

Shisui flicks through the channels while she settles with her feet tucked under her on the opposite end of the couch. To be alone with Shisui is nothing new— in fact despite not actually living there she’s the one she spends the most time with. 

_ He’s just as handsome as Sasuke _ , she thinks,  _ can have good manners like Itachi, talks a better game than Obito. Why is it so easy to be around  _ him.

He smiles as if on command and she realizes she’s been staring.

“Got a question, Haruno?” He reaches out to flick her toe but doesn’t look away from the TV. He’s chosen some horrible goreflick and there’s a woman in a ripped gingham dress screaming her brains out on screen. “Or you just trying to set my hair on fire.”

“Why—ummm.” She decided  _ why are you all like this _ would be impolite. 

“We’ve always been like this,” he sighs and changes the channel. “Not always it… it’s been this way for… awhile. Without saying too much it’s not easy being in a family like the Uchiha. A lot is expected of you, and everyone is looking for that little weakness, the bad grade, the temper tantrum. The unseemly friend.”

Sakura hums in response and nibbles her lower lip. On the TV, a chesty archaeologist kicks a mummy in half. It changes and she’s replaced by a man with brilliant white teeth slicing cans with a ceramic knife. 

“There are a lot of people who know how valuable an Uchiha son is to the family.”

His voice is so unexpected her head snaps to see if it’s the same person. There’s no humor in his tone, nothing wry or teasing. His eyes are fixed and faraway, some unknown scene playing across his expression. 

“Shisui,” she says gently, fingertips lifting without a second thought to touch him.

He catches her hand before it’s reached him, firm grip melting into a gentle squeeze as if the movement has roused him from some dream. 

“Didn’t mean to get weird,” he chuckles, bobbing his head to brush a courtly kiss across her knuckles. “I know they’re prickly but we’ve been through a lot. Things are much improved with you here.”

“Me?” Sakura laughs as he lets her hand fall gently back against her thigh. “I just cook dinner.”

Shisui winks and turns back to the TV. “I don’t think even you believe that, Sakura.”

Sometime around 11, Sasuke shuffles out of his room.

“What are you watching.” He sits between them without waiting for an answer, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Something awful,” Sakura replies. Her little smile falls when she sees his expression. “Are you okay—?”

“Fine.” He rubs his face with both hands. “Just… couldn’t sleep.”

Shisui reaches forward for the controllers on the coffee table. “Best cure for bad dreams.”

“I didn’t say I had a bad dream,” he snaps but accepts the controller.

“Let me know if you want some tea,” Sakura says, stretching her legs out to rise from the couch. “I’m just going to take a quick shower before bed.”

“Sakura—“ Sasuke’s face is suddenly drawn, worried. Furrowed like a little kid watching their paper boat float away. He thrusts the controller into her hand. “Play a round. I’ll get another set for us tomorrow.”

Sasuke takes winner and its Sakura, then its Sakura again, and again three more times until she gets up amidst the cousins tumultuous protests and insists she has to go to bed.

“You’re a ringer!” Shisui laughs triumphantly.

“It’s 1 am,” she laughs. Sasuke offers a demure hand to steady herself on as she stands. “Good night!”

“I’m sleeping here,” Shisui yawns as they start another round.

“Shocking,” Sasuke scoffs but he’s smiling and it makes something move in Shisui’s chest. He throws an arm around the younger man and pulls him close. “What the—!”

“Man,” is all Shisui says, not wanting to ruin the moment with _ I really missed this _ . “Man.”

“Hn.” Sasuke lets his arm linger before shaking it off. It’s the first nice thing either of them has done for the other in years. “Weirdo.”

Across the darkened house, Sakura waits for her shower to heat up, steam curling around her ankles. 

“What a day,” she sighs, wrinkling her brow at the memory of Sasuke’s fingers against her wrist, Obito’s stony expression as he’d left the house. The fugitive joy that had sparked in her throat when Shisui’s lips brushed her knuckles. The shower hums knowingly and she shakes her head to clear her mind but it just jumbles it together— lips, fingertips, strong palms cradling her knees, sly smiles and courtly manners and Obito and Shisui and Sasuke and—

“Boo!”

Her scream is loud enough to rattle the house awake. By the time they get toher, she’s already wrapped herself in a towel and relocated to the far side of the bathroom. 

“Sakura!”

She’s shaking but looks more annoyed than anything else. Shisui flings open the shower and scowls at the figure inside. Sasuke is one step behind him, an identical scowl falling into place. 

Sopping wet, floating three feet off the ground, and laughing like a loon.

“You should see your faces,” it cackles. The general figure of a man, lanky in dark blue robes, impossibly long black hair like a mane or a tail and long talonish fingers that are curled into accusatory points. It holds its stomach and laughs uncontrollably, a maniacal, metallic sound that rings like swords clashing. 

“I thought we got rid of you,” Sasuke sneers. 

Obito’s head pops into the tiny bathroom and Sakura covers her face with a palm. Three Uchihas plus a ghost, and she’s still in a towel. 

“What’s going—- Madara!”

The figure in the shower growls and barks and laughs and swirls into itself, bouncing between the cousins and out through the ceiling.

Obito hands Sakura her robe from the door. The manure smell coming off him is enough to make her gag but there’s little air as it is. Shisui’s expression pings between horror and uncontainable amusement. Sasuke is red from the tips of his ears to his toes and won’t look anyone in the eye. 

“So—“

“Everybody out!” Sakura shoos them from bathroom and out of her room. “Explain tomorrow, just—- out!”


End file.
